XX

Seen Through

When Jarvais woke the next morning, he felt soul-tired.

“Captain.”

Jarvais paused his work of saddling the great gray beast of a horse long enough to send a look over his shoulder. The female Consul approached. “Nefa’s ass,” he muttered, resuming the tightening of the saddle girth with a bit more gusto than he had intended. Excalipon snorted and sent Jarvais a reproachful glance. He patted the horse’s neck. “Sorry, boy.”

“Captain, we are to arrive at the Sanctur in but a few days.”

“Aye.” He adjusted his saddle scabbard.

“The Sanctur has been notified of our approach, but not of the expected time of our arrival.”

“Right again.” Jarvais began a complete check of Excalipon’s legs and hooves.

“You are the one whom volunteered to scout ahead of the caravan today?”

“Can’t get anything past you.” Satisfied, Jarvais finally took hold of the reins and pommel and pulled himself into the saddle.

The female Consul reached out to take hold of Excalipon’s bridle. “I give you leave, Captain, to travel ahead to the Sanctur and inform them of this information.”

Jarvais regarded her for a moment before leaning against the pommel. “Why?”

“You have the forward scouting duty, Captain,” she countered, her expression and tone revealing nothing. “Why should you not?”

“Hmm.” Straightening, Jarvais gave the reins a tug to make Excalipon step back. The Consul released her hold. “Fine.” Then Jarvais urged the gray away from the caravan.

Considering that journeying ahead to the Sanctur had been what he had wanted in the first place, it made him suspicious at being asked to do just that. He wasn’t one to look a gift purse in the mouth, and it would be nice to see Vail and Ris again without the added stress of his father and the Consul. That and he wanted to ask the Elder why his darker self wasn’t as noticeable as before—

A sudden sweetness on the wind settled upon him like a heavy blanket, causing a convulsion within his spirit that was so violent it nearly had him tumbling from the saddle. This was followed quickly by nausea and dizziness, making Jarvais tug Excalipon to a stop and scramble 

from the saddle to lean heavily against him, the horse looking quietly on. Still it pressed in on him, so hard and so deep that Jarvais could barely breathe, and he found himself nearly doubled over in pain.

What is this dark hardness in your soul, My son?

Jarvais swallowed hard. “I didn’t know it was there, to tell the truth,” he struggled out.

Now that you are aware, what is it that has kept you distant from the peace you wish?

“Can I say ‘I don’t know’?”

The spirit-hold tightened around the hardness and pain immediately erupted within and without. When the spirit-hold seemed to try and tear something free, Jarvais gave a choked gasp of pain and collapsed to his knees.

You clasp it tightly to you, My son. You are unwilling to release it to be made whole.

Jarvais gave a somewhat feeble shake of his head. “Really. I’d release it if I knew what ‘it’ was.”

Then why do you not search? Why do you expect others to give you the answers and the questions?

When the spirit-hold released the hardness, Jarvais gasped and fell forward. After a moment’s pause, he struggled up onto his hands. “Didn’t know.”

When you are confronted with your past, you react with anger and cast the blame to your father. You, Jarvais, are the one who must be held accountable for your actions. Neither your father nor the compilation of your rage and rebellion are responsible for the choices you have made.

Jarvais glowered, gripping handfuls of grass and soil. “I’m well aware that I’m responsible for my choices, thank you. It’s not the easiest duty to return to a place I’ve hated and set everything to rights.”

Do naught but admit your fault.

“Admit my fault?” he asked incredulously.

Yes. Admit your pride. Admit your hardened heart. Release your rage and forgive him.

“Blood and bones, Man!” Jarvais pushed himself harshly to his feet. “I’d rather—”

Spirit surrounded Jarvais with white flame, ripping him into the past and unfolding a memory of murder and mayhem. Of a black warlord and the head of a young boy.

Look upon the face of your choice, Jarvais.

Jachaim’s voice boomed like thunder as the warlord advanced, trading the head of the boy for his axe.

Did I save you from this end only to take you back? No. In all that you have accomplished thus far you have shown your thanks for the opportunity at a new life. You have been humble. You have been just. Why do you now surrender to pride?

Jarvais reached for his scabbard and swords— He looked quickly down to see an empty scabbard. Jarvais slowly lifted his gaze and took a step back. The warlord continued forward.

There can be no peace within if there is pride barring My work. Release it.

The warlord brought the axe forward, both hands eagerly gripping the haft. Memories flashed within of scenes where his father had browbeat him, pushing him to follow a life he hadn’t wanted. Of manipulations—

Release it!

Jarvais flinched and stepped back yet again, but a wall impeded further progress. “I don’t know how!”

Forgive him.

“I can’t!”

If you do not forgive him, Jarvais, you will not have peace. You will not save your people. If you do not forgive him and release the hate and rage, war will consume all that you love. Your promises will be broken, and I will have no sword to lead My militia.

The warlord chuckled long and deep, licking his lips at the promise of a fresh kill.

Jarvais, son of My Heart. Inis, Sword of My Justice, take up that which I have planned for you. My Sword. My Heart for My children. Lay down the weapons of man and the pride of victory and take up the Sword of Justice. Humble yourself!

Jarvais closed his eyes as the warlord raised his axe, knowing that he had fallen into the same trap of stubbornness that had nearly killed him before. Vail had been right. He was all talk and no action, and he knew he deserved the punishment that had come.

The warlord lifted his axe to press the blade against Jarvais throat, retracing the line of his scar. “And so I have defeated you yet again,” he said in a low voice. “Just as sweet as the last.”

Preparing himself for the blow of death, Jarvais fisted his hands—and tightened his grip around the hafts of his weapons. Jarvais’ eyes snapped open.

Take hold these weapons, son of My Heart, and do My work. Defeat your pride.

Gray-blue eyes focused on the glinting black depths of the warrior. “Not today, warlord. Not today.”

The warlord chuckled again, unmoved by the flashing eyes. “Don’t get cocky, boy. I’ve more power than you could imagine.”

“I don’t need to imagine anything.” In one swift motion, Jarvais adjusted his hold on the short sword to slide it easily between the plates of the warlord’s armor. The warlord’s eyes widened and he looked down, gasping as Jarvais submerged the sword to the hilt. “I was just as much to blame,” Jarvais whispered into the warlord’s shocked expression. He gave the blade a twist, making the warlord cough blood. “I was an ass.”

III

Standing on the balcony of his room, the Elder smiled as the warm and fragrant breeze whispered. It is time. The Elder turned from the balcony to make his way to a worn, beige cushion that had seen decades of use. Kneeling upon it, he covered his head with the hood of his robe and then clasped his intricately carved staff with both hands, resting one end upon the stone floor. A resonant hum accompanied the escalating fragrance of the breeze and he closed his eyes, power rising like a tide as he reached out with the Breath that had been a part of his life for more than a centuryY

YThe brightness and clarity didn’t accost his spirit-eye as it once had so many decades before. It was familiar and comforting, hinting at a purity that waited, beckoning from afar with the promise of the completion of a perfect home: the home of those accepted into The True House. He smiled as the Breath and his spirit took physical form in this spirit realm, making it possible for him to walk through the brightly lit Sanctur and out into the land of his birth.

But then a Voice whispered and the mists wavered and firmed, revealing the broken village from Jarvais’ past. The Elder moved toward a cottage with a broken door. He could feel the exhaustion within the cottage, a veritable palpable wave. It was that which let him know beyond a shadow of doubt that the two who had been one were nearly ready.

“May I enter, my son?”

“Of course, Elder. Come ahead.”

The Elder stepped within the oppressive dark, immediately lifting a request for light. The room was immediately illuminated, revealing Jarvais as he stood in front of a gutted fireplace. He held a simple scroll. The Elder moved closer, aware of Inis lurking outside the cottage entrance. “Jarvais, come and sit. Tell me what bothers your spirit.”

Jarvais sighed, but he didn’t move from the fireplace. “I can’t figure what to do next, Elder. I’ve studied and studied, but I can’t read a thing that helps. It’s tweaking my britches into flame and friction.”

“I know it does, my son.” The Elder turned toward the entrance. “There is no need to skulk, Inis. Come. I have a chair for you as well.” He pulled a tattered, over stuffed chair across from the other.

Jarvais looked up as young Inis hesitantly came from around the corner, his expression wary. Young Inis no longer wore the heavy black armor of before. Instead, he was dressed in a light linen shirt and dark brown leather breeches, as had been his custom in years past. One sleeve of his linen shirt, however, was missing and the edges were tattered.

Inis made his way to the chair with cautious steps, examining Jarvais’ annoyed expression before sitting. “How did you know me to be there?”

The Elder leaned against his staff with a smiling. “I felt you, my son. There is still a chaos surrounding you. It is less than before, but it is yet present.” The Elder’s gaze moved from one to the other. “Ah. There has been a disagreement on how to proceed.”

Inis draped a leg over the arm of the chair and crossed his arms, glowering at the far corner of the cottage. Jarvais sounded a grunt, assuming a similar posture of crossed arms and dark scowl that was focused on Inis.

The Elder examined them both, faintly amused in how the characteristics of the two caused endless frustration. They were, essentially, their own worst enemy. “Gentlemen, as long as you rebel against the other you shall remain separate. It is your choice.”

“My choice is to be out of this infernal wandering,” Inis snapped, sending a hard glare toward Jarvais and the Elder both. “It is not my choice to stay, separate or otherwise!”

“I know that you do not wish to wander any longer, Inis. Such is the reason you are here now. You are indeed attempting to offer your help.”

“What’s the point?” Inis grumbled. “He doesn’t listen to anything I say.”

“I’d listen better if you said something worth my time,” Jarvais retorted. “Spouting snide comments about my progress or strategy isn’t what the Elder had in mind, you little twak.”

“Jarvais,” the Elder reproached gently, Abe patient.”

Jarvais gave a quick exhalation of breath as he scrubbed at his scalp. “I’m sorry, Elder. His attitude burns.”

“I understand, but offering anger as repayment for anger only serves to sabotage what you both want: An end to the struggle. Let us see if we can’t work together instead of against one another.”

Releasing another deep sigh, Jarvais nodded. Inis only grumbled.

The Elder shifted his gaze back to the young man. “I recognize that grumble, Inis. What was your suggestion?”

A look of surprise flickered before Inis glanced away. “I simply suggested that I be the one present when Reinstatement happens—if it happens. After all, it is I who escaped this wretched island. In that respect, it’s only right that I should once more take up the Heiren position.” Inis sent Jarvais a black look. “He doesn’t trust me to return to him his blasted body.”

“That’s not it at all,” Jarvais objected. “I want to be whole when-and if-I’m reinstated. You don’t want to wander. Well, I don’t want to be half a man. Being Heiren is problem enough without my past giving me doubts.”

“What proof do I have that you are still trying to free me from my wandering?” Inis countered harshly.

That gathered the Elder’s focus. “Inis, you have his word.”

Inis snorted and looked away.

“I do not understand this reluctance,” the Elder admitted. He closely scrutinized Inis’ expression as well as the emotions he sensed within him. “It is borne of fear.”

“What reason has he given me not to fear?” Inis countered. “He usurps my life as his! To give him all—Impossible!”

“You sound like Father,” Jarvais mumbled. “Don’t you remember the reason we-I escaped in the first place? He wouldn’t accept who I was. He kept making all the choices for me, not caring what the consequences were.”

Inis’ face flushed red with anger. “You compare me with him?” He snarled and vaulted to his feet, holding Jarvais’ gaze. “I am nothing like the tyrant who seeks to control everything by fear and blood! I seek freedom. You seek nothing but your own—”

Jarvais’ eyes flashed with a dangerous flash of rage. “You don’t know anything about what I seek,” he countered in a strictly controlled voice. “If you did, you wouldn’t keep fighting to stay separate even though you moan and wail that you want to stop wandering!”

“What is it that you seek, Jarvais?”

Shifting his focus to the Elder, Jarvais fought back the desperation and anger. “What else? Peace. Family. A life without regret.”

“Do you not think I want that as well?” Inis snapped.

The Elder reached with his staff to tap Inis’ leg, drawing his attention. “And what of the power you desired at one time, young Sir?”

Inis turned his glare back toward Jarvais. “The power is his. Mine was an illusion. A misty temptation that kept me shrouded and deluded.” He leaned sharply forward, pointing deep into his chest. “I’ve been dragged along, led and prodded down a path that I wouldn’t have chosen had the choice been mine.” Inis sent Jarvais another dark look. “Is this really the ‘power’ you desire? To be surrounded by that which you cannot change? To be plagued by choices that you cannot truly make? To be controlled by the destiny of others, so that they will have comfort?” Jerking his signet from his finger, Inis flung it at Jarvais. “Here!” It ricocheted off the mantle to drop to the floor. “It’s yours for the taking! Give me a ship and the open sea, that is my home!”

Jarvais glared at Inis, the venom of his disgust clearly burning in his expression. Then he bent down and scooped up the signet, shaking it at Inis in a balled fist. “Is this all the name means to you? A trinket to be thrown to the floor? A responsibility tossed away when it’s too hard? Is this the man you are?” Jarvais’ lip curled. “The name Clemoun means nothing to you, so this name is my right.”

Inis’ reaction to Jarvais’ accusation was clear; his heart broke at the truth. As hard as Inis attempted to hold the Clemoun name to him, the pending Reinstatement loomed as a haunting memory of a re enactment of the past. Tyranny. Control lost. Peace forgotten. Friends and loved-ones hurt. His feeling of Self misplaced to a misty reality of ‘Heiren’ and nothing more. And with his statement he had become a true outsider by his own choosing.

The Elder shifted his focus to Jarvais. “This name is your right, Jarvais, because you are Clemoun.” He gestured toward Inis. “As is he. Before we can move forward you must admit that as you are of him, he is of you.”

Jarvais looked away.

Stepping forward, the Elder pushed Jarvais’ sleeve up to reveal his birthmark. He gestured to Inis’ arm, where an exact mark could be seen. “He is of you. Your only difference is that you bear the mark of your change.”

Inis’ hand went quickly to his throat, self-consciously hiding where the jagged scar should have been.

“You would have that trophy, Inis, if you would admit to the honor of that battle’s loss and move beyond it,” the Elder reminded. “Do not blame or curse the loss. Accept it to you and become what you wish to be. Rebel against what others say is plausible. Accept the miracle and be.”

“Be what?” Inis asked as he turned with a snarl. “Be that sniveling—”

“That is enough, Inis,” the Elder warned. Inis clenched his jaw. “You doubt your ability and your place, and it is this that keeps you apart. Standing together in agreement would heal the rift and make you one.”

Inis’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Agreement of what?”

“Of anything would be a beginning.”

Jarvais reluctantly chuckled, but Inis simply crossed his arms and looked away.

The Elder sighed and adjusted his hands on the staff. “Yes. I recognize the Clemoun determination. You have taken up a position and refuse to relent. This is also what keeps you apart. Until you drop your pride and the certainty that your position is the right one, one of you shall constantly plague the other.” He motioned to them both. “It is a wonder you do not recognize your similarities. You share the same passion for truth. You share the same desire for peace. You share the same tenderness toward she whom you once called friend and now name something more.” Both shifted their gazes to the Elder. “You have both sought a way to change that which you felt was wrong inside of you. A selfishness. A disregard for those in positions of need. Pride.”

Inis sent Jarvais a sidelong glance as the Elder spoke.

“Jarvais, you did not accept this change to your name until months had passed under the hermit’s care. The transition went unnoticed, but it was there just the same. Inis came to be when the Dark began to accuse you of that which had already been dealt with. You were not strong enough in your path to know this, so you buried it. You pushed it far from your tender heart and continued to feed it with the darkness that bombarded you with guilt, failure, and other such untruths.”

The Elder focused on Inis. “The fault was not his, Inis. The rage and betrayal you feel should be aimed at the Dark that caused your separation. You chose to accept Jarvais as your true self. This was forgotten when the Dark blinded you to that which you had freely chosen, as well as to the reasons why you had taken a new life. You saw the evil within and sought an end. Do you not remember? Do you not vividly recall the horror at the bloodshed caused by a young man that reminded you of who you were becoming?”

Inis’ complexion yellowed as the memories surfaced with stark and unmerciful clarity. “Do not take me there,” Inis rasped, and he fell at the Elder’s feet to take hold of the hem of his robe. “Do not allow the Dark to come! I cannot withstand the stench of the Dark!”

The horror radiated strongly from the young warrior, bombarding the Elder as he rested a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It cannot win this fight, Inis, if you will but grasp that which you want: Peace! You do not wish control, not truly. Control is a myth. Instead, cling to the purpose The Mighty will give you. The mercy he promised that day the Dark was defeated.” The Elder looked to Jarvais with bright and shining eyes. “Remind your past self of the vision you saw.”

“ ‘Lay down your weapon,’” Jarvais repeated quietly. “ ‘Lower your sword and take up that which I have planned for you. My sword. My heart. Lay down your weapon of man and rage, and take up the Sword of Justice!’” Jarvais finally focused on Inis, the young man’s eyes wide with the refreshed memory. “When I did that, he saved my life.”

The Elder alternated his focus between the two. “Do you see? You surrendered to a greater purpose. You were in agreement. You, Inis, chose to do that which The Mighty commanded. You, Jarvais, chose to rebel against what others found acceptable and teach them to be respectful and trustworthy. Now you both desire peace. You both desire freedom for your people. You desire protection for those you love. You desire wholeness to your family, as well as to the family of others. Clasp this to you. Grasp the goodness of your heart and realize this it is one, shared. This is you, Jarvais Inis Clemoun.”

Seriousness tightened Jarvais’ features as he focused on Inis in silent regard. “You’ve been lucky enough to gain life twice, Inis,” he finally said. “Are you going to give up, or are you going to do right by your people and give them the peace they want?”

The young warrior stood to attention. “I will take up the Sword of Justice and defend them.”

“And if it means your life?” Jarvais pressed. “I gave it all up once. Will you do it again?”

“I will.”

Jarvais presented his arm. “Then shake on it.”

Inis accepted, each clasping the other’s forearm with a firm grip of resolve and determination.

It was then that a stench dropped, as thick and grotesque as the odor from the marshes east of the Ruin Forest. The Elder turned, his expression altering to a tautness of seriousness and extreme calm as he focused the man that leaned against the doorframe of the cottage.

The man gave the appearance of being young – somewhere between twenty and thirty – and yet there was an aged look about his eyes that instilled a coldness and muted fear into the deepest part of Jarvais. The man had a dark complexion, dark eyes, dark hair, and a continual and very slight smirk that shouted mockery and condescension. Slowly straightening, the blackish gray garb he wore faded in and out of reality with each step forward.

The Elder moved to stand in front of Jarvais and the young Inis.

The man smirked. “You had best move, old one. We shall take that which we need.” He pointed at Inis. “And we have need of him.”

The air that surrounded the Elder began to shimmer with the Breath’s increase in potency as he adjusted his grip on his staff. “You do not have permission to destroy his spirit.”

“We do not wish to destroy it, old one,” the man said, warily eyeing the Elder. “Why would we destroy what we have cultivated with such great care?”

Inis took a menacing step forward.

“Inis,” Jarvais hissed as he grabbed the young man’s arm. “Stand down!”

Inis allowed himself to be halted, his fists tightly clenched. “Being in your service would be destruction just the same,” he barked. “You had better vanish.”

The man initially chuckled. But then his eyes became a dangerous shade of reddish black. “No, little man. It is you who must go.”

The Elder lifted the staff, taking it in both hands as Inis and Jarvais freed their swords. The man’s expression looked to be one of boredom as he very deliberately and slowly set his stance. A blade of the darkest metal appeared within his hands, jagged and menacing with burrs upon the blade and a coiled serpent upon the hilt. The man chuckled low, the sound hovering between reality and something Jarvais only vaguely understood.

“You will not win this foolish attempt at valor,” the man calmly informed. “I have been here before and the outcome is always the same.”

Jarvais sent the Elder a sidelong glance. For the first time in Jarvais’ recollection the Elder’s expression showed stern purpose and an almost indignant firmness. Likewise, the power that Jarvais had always sensed around the Elder now rose and pulsated like a barely withheld tidal wave. Inis must have noticed it as well, for he continued to send the Elder glances of wonder.

“This battle’s outcome is immaterial,” the Elder reminded the man, Afor the war has been won before it began.”

One side of the man’s lips twitched upward as a hand released his weapon to be extended outward, palm upward. Within his palm there gathered a swirling mass of black and purple mist colored by sparks of red. “Blissful delusions, old one, shall not protect you.”

“Well spoken lies shall not twist the Truth.”

The man laughed, and the wicked delight twinkling in the man’s eyes set Jarvais’ soul afire. ‘Tell me what to do, Mikta Unah, and I’ll do it.’ And for the first time he felt a certainty that The Mighty not only heard him, he had full intention of answering.

Even to the forfeit of your life?

Jarvais looked toward his younger self, who met his gaze and gave a brief nod. Jarvais moved his focus back to the man with the blade and the compilation of wicked power. ‘If it means protecting my people and my friends, just try and stop me.’

You have chosen My heart and My sword over your own life. Blessings and power I give to you to rescue My children from their misery. Now, Jarvais, son of My heart. Inis, Sword of My Justice. Defeat your doubt.

Inis stepped forward and set his stance. “I may not know what you want, but this is the last warning you have to leave. Otherwise, you shall find yourself a new home.”

The man chuckled. “Cocky as ever, Inis te Jachaim.” He focused on the roiling mist of dark, molding and toying with it using only his gaze. “How many lives must I steal before you realize I’ve more power than you can defeat?” The man’s gaze shifted from the mist to Inis’ hard expression. “Was Parks not enough of a friend?”

Inis clenched his jaw.

“Very well,” the man said, giving a slight nod. He immediately launched the dark orb toward the Elder.

Inis gave a shout of “No!” as he dived into the orb’s path. Jarvais felt the burning and twisting within the depths of his own soul as his younger self collapsed at the feet of the Elder with a pain-filled gasp. Jarvais’ eyes shifted from Inis to the man and back again. ‘What do I need to do?’

Face your Doubt. Confess it and you rob it’s power.

Giving a brief nod, Jarvais painfully straightened and stepped forward. He only vaguely noticed the Elder kneeling beside Inis and speaking Healing. Instead, Jarvais’ gaze didn’t waver from the dark intensity within the man’s countenance.

The man gathered another ball of glowing torture with a slightly wider smirk than before. “Not much of a sword, in my opinion.”

A flash of whiteness briefly sparked in Jarvais’ eyes. “A sword that’s hurt while protecting others is more useful than one that kills for pleasure.”

“And a heart that is broken? What is the good of that?” the man asked with a meaningful expression. The orb of dark increased in size. “Shall we see?”

Prepare

Jarvais set his stance, centering his focus as swords, spirit, and purpose molded to one.

Speak the Truth

“My heart breaks every time I see what’s happened to my people at the hands of my father,” Jarvais said through clenched teeth. “You want to know why? Because I could’ve stopped it if I hadn’t run. I could’ve stopped it if I hadn’t been such a pompous wart full of thoughts of my own adventure. I could’ve done a lot of things if I’d curbed my pride and listened to a different Voice.” Jarvais spat. “Put that in your craw and chew it.”

The dark held within the man’s palm flashed brighter moments before he hurled it at Jarvais, who held his ground while waiting for the Voice—

Step to the left and counter

Jarvais stepped to the left, immediately raising his swords to intercept and block the dark blade. Sparks lit the air as Jarvais trapped the blade between his. Dark gaze met dark gaze and Jarvais said, “Surprise.”

The Elder straightened as Inis staggered to his feet. “I hope to the Maker He lets me get a shot at you for that,” Inis said harshly.

Jarvais pushed the man away, eyes bright and face aglow. “Ask Him,” he said, not moving his focus from the man’s blade and body language.

Inis retrieved his blades from the floor. “I believe I will.”

And a moment later, Jarvais and Inis both heard a recognizable Voice within.

Work together as a compilation of past, present, and future and the victory I have given to you shall be realized.

Jarvais and Inis exchanged a smirk before focusing their attention on the man, who didn’t seem at all perturbed at the approach of the two warriors.

“The Mighty’s Sword and Heart stand before you,” the Elder informed proudly. “Face the judgment that comes from their unity.”

The man accumulated another orb of mist with an almost bored expression. “If you insist.”

Inis and Jarvais stepped forward as the Elder spoke a Word of Defense and Vitality. Inis performed a few displays of his adept handling and familiarity with his weapons as the man stepped farther into the cottage. Then both Jarvais and Inis began to circle, eyes alert, focus centered, and spirit awaiting their orders.

The man sent the orb toward the Elder as his blade thrust toward Jarvais. The Elder disintegrated the orb with a strike from his staff as Jarvais parried with one blade and lunged with the other. The man sidestepped from the lunge and blocked a pincer attack from Inis with a second summoned blade of dark.

“Intriguing,” the man said as he met and parried, and blocked and thrust against the pair.

Jarvais blocked a thrust while Inis was struck in the face with the pommel of the other weapon. “And why’s that?” Jarvais asked through clenched teeth. He lunged, following with a slash from his short sword that caught the man across the face. Blood flowed. “Because we don’t run?”

The man didn’t outwardly respond to the cut. Instead, he slashed at Inis while blocking and parrying a succession of forms from Jarvais. The slash was unsuccessful, as were the blocks. One of Jarvais moves penetrated the man’s defenses to submerge into his side.

“Intriguing because you fight though you will not win.” He spat an acidic whisper toward Jarvais.

Jarvais dodged and struck. The man blocked, but missed Inis’ feint and thrust. The blade caught his arm. “Seems to me we’re doing pretty good,” Jarvais countered.

Jarvais sidestepped and spun from a thrust and slash of the twin dark blades, backing from the onslaught and out the open door of the cottage to the thundering scenery of the outside. Inis followed the man with determined strides, eyes alert for weakness or openings as his blades pursued and punctured and weakened the man’s defenses.

The Elder followed but made no move to intervene save the occasional Word of Healing, Strength, or Stamina.

“Pride precedes failure,” the man reminded, blocking a lunge and slashing a similar cut across Jarvais’ face.

Jarvais ignored the burn of the slice and punched at the man’s face, using the haft of his short sword as additional weight and thrust. The man dodged and spun, meeting Inis’ lunge, thrust, and slash with a work of blade and footwork. Inis accepted and countered the attention with the speed of The Mighty Himself. The man jumped clear of a slash, but not quick enough; blood dripped down his chest as he gauged Jarvais and Inis’ continual and determined approach.

Jarvais and Inis both adjusted their hold on their weapons as they again circled the man.

His dark eyes examined first one face and then the other. “You fight differently than before,” he observed.

“Go figure,” Jarvais said simply, gauging the man’s body language for his next move.

Inis seemed to do the same.

The man smirked. “I appreciate the experience and the challenge. The victory will be more gratifying.”

A thunder crashed along the reddened sky, but Jarvais and Inis kept their focus on the man.

“You should beware your own pride,” Inis retorted. “I am amazed you are able to see past the size of your ego.”

Jarvais’ lips twitched as he and his younger self continued to circle the man like the hunter circled its prey. A tickle in the back of his senses didn’t allow the smile to remain, though. He sent out his awareness in search of the cause, but he received nothing back but darkness and fog. Uneasiness began to build, eating at his focus.

“You would certainly recognize ego, Inis te Jachaim,” the man countered with a pointed look, “for you never lacked that. Your skill has always been mediocre, yet you classified yourself as a warrior of high esteem.”

Something pressed against Jarvais’ inner self, and he tried to open himself up to itY It was like opening a locked door without a key. Frustration rose— ‘Mikta Unah?’ The Voice was too faint to hear, so Jarvais lashed out with the tip of his short sword in an attempt to distract the dark’s attack.

The man blocked and countered; blood dripped from a fresh cut on Jarvais’ neck. “Now, now, Jarvais. We mustn’t be impatient.”

Desperation began to drown the peace—Jarvais lowered his swords.

“What are you doing?” Inis asked harshly. “Do not lower your guard!”

Jarvais sheathed his weapons as he returned to an examination of the man’s dark expression and intent. Then Jarvais shook his head and looked again to his younger self. “Inis, we need to wait until we hear the Order. We can’t battle our Doubt solely on our own. We’ve tried for too many years without getting an inch in any direction but backwards. Remember?”

Inis clenched his jaw so tightly that Jarvais thought the muscles would burst, but then he sheathed his weapons with a harsh motion as his alert gaze focused again on the man. “Yes. I remember.”

When Jarvais once again focused on the man, he noticed the man had straightened in surprise and looked to both with a near slack-jawed expression. Then a near overwhelming desire to take up his weapon and defend himself nearly overpowered Jarvais’ determination to wait, and he could tell that Inis fought the same. But they both continued to wait for the next Order that would give them the appropriate and true direction.

“Take up your weapons,” the man said with a corresponding gesture. “Do you doubt I will strike you down, defenseless as you are?”

“I have no doubt whatsoever that you would strike an unarmed man,” Inis retorted darkly. “There is no honor in that, and what does the dark know of honor and justice?” Inis’ hands moved to tightly grip his scabbard belt. “I shall wait for the Order.”

“Order? What order is there but to save your life? Do you not see that the order you wait for will not come? He has abandoned you to death.”

Jarvais shook his head, drawing the man’s attention. “Nope. We wait. Try and strike us down, but I really don’t think you’ve got the permission to do that.” Jarvais regarded the man’s expression, shielded as it was. “Do you?”

The man actually clenched his jaw, holding Jarvais’ gaze for barely a moment before turning his focus to Inis. “I have come for your spirit, and I shall take what I have come for.”

Inis adjusted his hold on his scabbard, clenching his jaw as he remained silent. Then, still without a word, he spat. The action seemed a dare.

Again the man paused his approach. He gestured to the sheathed blades at Inis’ side. “Take up your weapons,” he pressed. “I take you to a darker existence than what you currently hold. Is this what future you desire? To be used for an evil purpose against your people?”

“No,” Inis said through clenched teeth, “but I will not act until I have been given an Order.”

“Why?” the man pressed. “What is to be gained in the waiting?”

“Proof that we trust His decisions,” Inis responded.

“A way to let Him know it’s His Order or nothing,” Jarvais added.

The man’s dark gaze sparked with something that looked similar to fear as he glanced toward Jarvais. “This ‘nothing’ is death and eradication,” he said. “What good comes of this?”

Jarvais shrugged. “The Mighty sees the map, and He captains this particular ship.”

A sudden light broke through the redness of the sky, illuminating the man in a pillar of white flame.

Inis and Jarvais blinked, taking a minute step backward in surprise. Then they heard a resounding Order—

Strike!

They drew their blades as one, lunging at the same instant to send the man into a bright flash of nothingness.

So your judgment is passed: You are whole. Begin My work and receive My Blessing.

The End of Act I